


The Road to Acceptance

by distortedrain



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Awkward Conversations, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 23:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedrain/pseuds/distortedrain
Summary: Louis comes out to the boys as asexual one at a time, in order of age (or best friend-ness). They're awkward, awkward, awkward, except for one of them.





	The Road to Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raevenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raevenn/gifts).



> Un-beta'd because my dumb ass didn't realise the due date and therefore didn't have time to find one.

Louis felt weird. 

Weird, weird, weird. 

When he was a kid—and by kid he meant lanky and blond and a little bit full in the cheeks, just on the brink of puberty—he hadn’t though much of it. His lack of sexual desire. All of his friends would come to school and talk about all the porn they jacked off to. Encouraged him to try it. Hell, even his sex-ed class encouraged him to try it. 

So he’d gone home to the clunky new desktop his mom had just bought—that’s right: it was year 2007. No more DVD porn from strip mall (ha) adult video stores. No more deleting computer history because now there was such thing as private browsing. 

But when Louis had visited Pornhub (per his best friend’s recommendation), well. The girls were pretty and the guys were also pretty and his dick felt _nice _, but. Well he couldn’t explain it. He just couldn’t find it in him to care.__

Sixteen year old Louis surmised that he would grow into it. 

Twenty-two year old Louis realised that he never had. He was beginning to think he never would.

* * *

**Pre-Show Nerves**

Fear gripped his heart in its iron fist.

What Louis was about to do was drastic. Life or death. 

Louis had been debating it for months. If he crossed this line, he could never go back. If he went down this metaphorical path, then the metaphorical doors would close behind him. 

His bandmates—friends, _family _, even, had never outwardly expressed any disdain towards gay people. Or bi people. Or transgendered people. He had already come out to them as gay, for god’s sake, and he had yet to wake up in the middle of Texas after being thrown out of the tour bus. His management had managed to weaken his friendship with Harry over their ridiculous concern about the rumours of a relationship between them (and honestly, what up with that? Why not perpetuate the rumours? If anything, it was making them gain even more publicity. Wasn’t that the ultimate goal? To reach the pinnacle of fiscal success?), but Louis was quite certain that the news he was bearing would not turn his young friend against him. Or any of the rest of them.__

Six years and many attempts at trying to have sex, trying to watch porn (and like it) later, here Louis was, coming to terms with who he was. Now that he had figured himself out, the words were always crawling up his throat, begging to be blurted out, begging to be heard by anyone who would hear them: “I’m asexual! I’m asexual! I’m asexual!”

Louis was brave, but he wasn’t brave to tell them all at once. He couldn’t imagine the unbearably crushing feeling he would bet if all four of his best friends in the world looked at him with cruel, derisive sneers and asked him just what the _fuck _was wrong with him. Louis was brave, but sometimes his imagination got ahead of him. Though common sense and logic told him that there was no way in hell any of them would be anything but accepting, all he could think about were the pages upon pages upon pages of tweets and Instagrams and Facebook posts denoting the who, what, where, when, and why of _asexuality is bullshit _.____

* * *

_____ _

**Please Welcome Onto the Stage, Louis Tomlinson!**

He pulled Zayn aside first.

Zayn was undoubtedly his best friend among all the band members. He was the second older among them after Louis himself, and despite their opposing personalities—Zayn, shy and enigmatic, though undoubtedly a musical genius; Louis, obscenely loud and gregarious—they got on like a wildfire. Ever since the rift had been torn in Louis and Harry’s friendship quilt by their own management, Zayn had taken up the position of official first hand man. It was only right that Louis told him first. 

The tour bus had a back room. There was a TV in there, and someone had had the bright idea to install a Playstation 3. It kept the boys occupied for the most part of their long trips between venues, including, admittedly, Louis, who was a football fan both in real life and not. It was only logical that his football skills in real life transferred to the virtual version of FIFA. Zayn, however, was not swayed by the PS3’s allure. While the others took turns playing each other on the console, Zayn tended to steer clear. By the time the sun went down, he was usually in his bunk. 

On this night in particular, in Zayn’s bunk was exactly where Zayn was. 

Everyone else was in the back room. Louis could hear the occasional whoops and cheers, the occasion “Hey, fuck you!”s, the laughter than couldn’t seem to contain itself for more than ten seconds. 

Louis whipped back the curtain of Zayn’s bunk. The boy jumped in surprised, yanking his headphones from his ears. 

“Louis!” Zayn cried. “What if I had been wanking?”

The mention of the word brought the slightest rush of blood to Louis’ cheeks. “Er—sorry,” Louis said. “Can I talk to you?” 

Zayn was upright in a heartbeat. “What happened?” he asked. “DId someone say something to you?”

“No, no.” Louis paused, deliberating. This was his last chance to back out and walk away with his tail between his legs (even if Zayn didn’t know why he had his tail between his legs). But before he could talk himself into going to the back room with the other guys, he steeled himself and set his shoulders back. “I’ve realised some things, lately.”

“Are you a girl or something?” Zayn joked, but at Louis’ stern expression, his face fell back into solemnity. “What have you realised?”

Louis breathed out. _You can back out, you can back out, you can back out_. Honestly, after all this time, his mantra was growing tiresome. “IthinkI’masexual,” Louis gushed out.

But Zayn hadn’t heard him so clearly. “What?”

And there it was again, that fear. WHy the _fuck_ hadn’t Zayn heard him the first time? Another deep breath. “I’m asexual.”

A long pause, then, “Oh.” _Awkward, awkward, awkward, awkward, awk— _”Right. Um. That’s—good. That’s good.”__

__“That’s good?” Louis asked skeptically._ _

__“Yeah. That’s good. Good you told me. Good you—um—figured that out. Yeah.” _Awkward, awkward, awkward_. _ _

__“Right.”_ _

__“Have you told the rest of the guys?”_ _

__“Not yet,” Louis sighed. “You’re the first._ _

__“I’m the first,” Zayn repeated. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine. They'll be fine.”_ _

__“Yeah.” _Awkward, awkward, awkward_. “I’ll let you sleep.” _ _

__Louis went to draw the curtains back in. He took the cloth in his hands, and just as he was about to pull the curtain across the bunk, Zayn gripped his wrist. “I am glad you told me, Louis.”_ _

__Louis nodded, and drew in the curtain._ _

* * *

____

**Mid-Show Intermission**

Louis had decided upon telling the boys in order of their ages. By that logic. Liam would come first, then Niall, then Harry. Liam and Niall, Louis expected, would probably react the same way as Zayn. Confused, lukewarm, but kindly still. Zayn was older than Liam and Zayn by over half a year, but he was not any more mature than them (nor was Louis). Inscrutable as he seemed to the public eye, Zayn was nothing more than a child at heart. Despite the fact, Zayn had handled the news better than Louis had expected. Louis hoped the other boys would do the same.

Louis caught Liam in his dressing room after their next show. 

“Liam,” Louis started. “Can I talk to you?” _Can I talk to you was good. Can I talk to you_ was safe. 

“Sure,” Liam replied distractedly, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. 

“Well. . .” Speaking to Zayn had granted Louis courage. At least, up until this point. Now, once again faced with the daunting task of spilling the metaphorical beans, Louis’ newfound bravery had deserted him once more. And to think, he was usually considered the _bold _one of the five. “Well. . .”__

__“Well. . ?” Liam implored. “Listen, Lou, I really need a shower.”_ _

__“Me, too” Louis said, jumping on the opportunity to gather his nerve._ _

__A twenty minute shower later, and Louis was back at Liam’s dressing room, the water from his hair dripping onto his shirt and darkening it, thinking, he was the one who would never shut up. He was a babbler. Anyone who could make Louis William Tomlinson shut up was the real spectacle. Brevity was a feat for Louis. It was very much surprising, now, that brevity was all that Louis had. And it wasn’t even brevity; Louis just couldn’t talk at all. His words weren’t concise, they were stuck in his throat. All of a sudden, Louis wasn’t such a talker anymore._ _

__Louis knocked once, twice, thrice on Liam’s solid wooden door with his knuckles._ _

__“Just a second!” Liam called from inside. His voice sounded far away, like he was yelling to Louis from the opposite end of an arena. The door flew open, and there stood Liam, a fresh shirt, fresh pants, and a towel over his wet hair. “Hey, Lou.” He still sounded far away._ _

__“Hey.’_ _

__Liam’s brow furrowed. And Louis realised how out-of-character he was being. So he turned his mouth up in a charming smile. “We have much to discuss, Liam!” he said cheerfully, and pushed right past Liam into the dressing room. Liam had a white loveseat much like the one that inhabited Louis’ own dressing room. Louis sat there and spread his knees apart as Liam shut the door and turned to him._ _

__“Okay,” Liam said. “You’re acting weird.”_ _

__“What the fuck are you on about, Liam?” Louis asked, pulling the _are-you-stupid?_ face as he so often would when encountered with a particular bout of, well, stupidity._ _

__Liam tilted his head towards Louis. “C’mon, Lou.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“What do you mean, ‘What’?” Liam asked. “What did you want to talk about?”_ _

__Was that Liam letting him go?_ _

__“I’ve already told Zayn this. It’s only right that I tell you next.”_ _

__“Why me next?”_ _

__“You’re the next oldest.”_ _

__“Oh,” Liam said, feigning disappointment. “So it’s not in order of best friend-ness?”_ _

__Louis smiled amusedly. “If that were the case, I think I’d tell the other seven billion people on Earth, and then you.”_ _

__“Ouch,” Liam said, but he was smiling wider than Louis was._ _

__“Um,” Louis said awkwardly (God, was that his favourite word now?), and Liam’s gaze sharpened on him. His smile faded just slightly, enough that the solemnity grew, but not enough that Louis could feel the great, crushing weight of pressure and unwelcome. Liam’s smile simply read as _whenever you’re ready_. “Um,” Louis said again. _ _

__“Right, so it’s big,” Liam guessed. “Whatever you want to tell me, it’s big.”_ _

__“Yes,” Louis admitted. “And no. It’s up to you if you want to accept this about me or not. But I can’t gauge your reaction until I say it, right? So it’s hard for me to say it, y’know?” A pause. “Am I even making any fucking sense?”_ _

__“Yeah.” There was a stool in the corner of the dressing room. It was a dark brown wood that was scratched and worn, and it scraped across the wooden floor as Liam dragged it towards Louis, and creaked when he sat on it. “If you’re worried about me hating you forever,” Liam started, “you don’t need to.”_ _

__“Even if I told you I don’t like sex?”_ _

__“You don’t like sex?”_ _

__“Don’t like it, don’t want it,” Louis affirmed. “We lads go to the pub and someone says they’re going to pick up a bird and screw her. . .but it doesn’t really appeal to me. Not that I haven’t tried.”_ _

__“So you just don’t have sex,” Liam said stupidly._ _

__“Yes, that’s what I said.”_ _

__“Bloody hell, Louis. So, like, how does that work exactly?”_ _

___Curious, not insensitive_ , Louis reminded himself. _ _

__“Well, it’s called asexuality. . .”_ _

* * *

__Niall had caught a cold the night after Louis had spoken with Liam and had, at everyone else’s insistence, taken leave from the PS3. Louis, seeing this as the opportune moment to come clean to Niall, had volunteered immediately to take care of their second-youngest bandmate (Louis’ given guise was that since he was the eldest, it was his _duty_ to take care of the others, though Zayn, and perhaps Liam, though Louis hadn’t seen, had given him a very knowing look). _ _

__“There we are,” Louis said as he held out a bowl of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle to Niall. He had found a can of it in their kitchen (a kitchen! In a tourbus!) and microwaved it. It was an obvious staple in every home, so of course someone—probably Harry—had insisted upon stocking the tourbus up with it._ _

__Niall’s Irish accent made everything seem a little less hard. Niall could cuss Louis out and insult everything about his and then about his family, and it would only seem half as bad because he was _Itish_. If Niall were to, suppose, hate Louis forever and think him a freak because of his asexuality, Louis would take comfort in the kind lilt of his accent. (Was that fucked up?)_ _

__“Thanks, Lou,” Niall said, accepting the bowl._ _

__Niall looked pale, and was huddled up in at least three layers of blankets. His hair was matted down, looking nothing like it had the night of their last concert. His smile was tired and stretched, but warm and grateful and genuine nonetheless. Louis could only pray that it would remain that way after he delivered his news, followed through on his ulterior motive for taking care of Niall._ _

__Niall’s bunk was the one below Zayn’s. Louis knelt down on one knee, then the next. He allowed himself to fall backwards and he tucked his legs into himself. He placed his elbow down on the mattress on Niall’s bunk and propped his chin up on his fist. He watched Niall slowly raised a spoonful of soup to his lips, blow lightly, then slurp._ _

__Niall noticed Louis’ sharp, fixed (fond) gaze after seven more slurps. “What?” he asked through a mouthful of soup, a bit of liquid dribbling down his chin._ _

__Louis’ smile grew, unadulteratedly kind. “You’ve got soup on your chin.”_ _

__Niall swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and then over his bedsheets. Louis’ nose crinkled just slightly, and when Niall looked back at him, there was a mischievous glint in his eye._ _

__It was a truly rare occurrence that Niall guided conversations towards particularly vulnerable topics. It wasn’t that the boy was oblivious to social cues, or to the emotional charge of an environment. It was just that he strayed towards the brighter side of life. So it surprised Louis when, with a face devoid of a smile, Niall asked, “Are you okay?”_ _

__Louis sputtered, taken aback. “Well—why’re you asking?”_ _

__“You don’t usually take care of sick people, Lou,” Niall reminded him. “And before you say, ‘I thought it was time to take on responsibility since I am the oldest,’ I know that’s bullshit.”_ _

__Louis’ mouth quirked up in a bitter smile. “I wish you didn’t know me so well, sometimes.” He sighed loudly. “You’re right. I have something to tell you, and—”_ _

__“It’s what you told Zayn.” Niall said matter-of-factly, his tone leaving no room for objection. “And Liam.” How did Niall even know about that? When had he become so intuitive?_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“I’d ask if you were gay, but I already know you are. Is it something along those lines?”_ _

__“Yes, it is,” Louis said. Would the surprises Niall could produce never end?_ _

__“Bi?” Niall searched. “Pan? Are you a woman?”_ _

__Louis laughed. “Zayn asked that, too, that last one.” Except that when Zayn had asked, he had been joking, and when Niall had asked, he had been entirely serious and entirely concerned and _entirely supportive _of the possibility. Why wasn’t Niall his best friend again? Louis noted mentally that he might have to make some amends to his Best Friends in Order of Best Friendship list. “Um, no. None of the above.”___ _

____“What, then? Because you know—”_ _ _ _

____“Asexual,” Louis blurted. “I’m asexual.”_ _ _ _

____Niall’s mouth fell shut. Then open, then shut again._ _ _ _

____An awkward, awkward, _awkward_ , moment of silence, and then, weakly: “What exactly does that mean?” _ _ _ _

____“Oh. Um.” How very awkward. “It means I don’t like sex.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh.” Niall’s brow furrowed as he thought of what to say. And then, his usual sunny smile settled on his lips. “I mean. . .yeah. I guess, Louis. That’s good.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay.”_ _ _ _

* * *

______ _ _

**The Grand Finale**

Louis hadn’t have a proper conversation with Harry in a long time. Not in public nor in private. The rumours about a relationship between them had driven in deep a wedge that had fractured their friendship greatly. If Louis had realised his asexuality two, three years ago, Harry would have been the first to know. Now, Harry was the youngest, Harry was the last, Harry was his least best friend. They had grown up right next to each other but Louis couldn’t recall the first thing about new-Harry. Didn’t _know_ the first thing about him. Louis knew Harry as he had been when they had met; baby-face, wild, curly fringe, big smile. New Harry was quiet in public, his hair was growing out, and the fat was disappearing from his face to reveal a finecut jaw and finer cut cheekbones. The only thing that had remained the same were his eyes. Hopefully he was still kind.

Wasn’t is strange to not know a thing about one of your supposed best friends?

Louis had put off telling Harry for nearly two weeks after he had told Niall. Something about telling his youngest bandmate was more nerve racking than telling the rest. He wondered, still, how he could break the news. Perhaps he’d do it tomorrow. Or the day after that—yes, that sounded nice. 

It was the middle of the night; well past two o’clock at this point. They had no show the following night, so Louis felt no guilt at not sleeping. His legs were curled up to his chest, and his blanket was tucked nearly around him. His eyes were wide open. 

The tour bus rumbled beneath him. Louis could feel the hum of the engine, the smoothness of the road, the slight jostle of the vehicle every time it his a rock or a pothole. And—and this was unusual, this was not supposed to happen—Louis could hear the creak of a mattress as someone eased out of their bunk, the slap of bare feet hitting the floor, the pad of footsteps, fading as whoever-it-was wandered to the bad of the bus and out of earshot. 

Odd. That was odd, and Louis was wide awake and filled to the brim with boredom. The only logical course of action was to follow his restless bandmate.

Louis’ bunk was below Liam’s; the ground floor, so to speak. He drew the curtain back and swung his legs, around, one foot landing silently on the ground, then the other. He ducked out of the bunk space and shut the curtain once more. 

Walking through the tour bus at night was eerie. It was quiet and dark, an empty space cruising through the outlands between concert venues. The door to the backroom was shut, but Louis could see the light of the TV illuminating the room through the crack beneath the door. 

Louis slid the door open, then quickly shut. He had only caught a glimpse of the room’s occupant, but a glimpse was all he needed. If he walked in there now, he would have no choice but to tell the person his news. As long as he evaded Harry, he wouldn’t have to _talk_ to Harry. But now that Harry the only other person awake, standing on the other side of that door, _naked_ , Louis could no longer avoid confrontation. 

Louis pushed the door open and shut it behind me. 

Harry barely spared him a glance. THe youngest band member was on the couch in front of the TV, his feet propped up on a coffee table. His hair, which was usually in a bandana, nowadays, was loose and tumbled nearly to his shoulders. His chest was finely cut, just as his jaw and cheekbones, and the smooth planes of it were inked in black. Harry’s arms, too, were covered in tattoos. 

And there it sat, royally limp and between his legs. Louis wanted to laugh. 

“Hi, Harry,” Louis said instead.

 _Now_ he had Harry’s attention. Louis had hardly had a conversation with Harry, much less initiated one. To do it now was simply. . .strange. 

“Louis,” Harry said, and his voice carried his surprise. 

“Hi, Harry,” Louis said again. He wanted to slap himself. 

“Did you want to watch TV?” Harry asked. “I can go.”

“No, no. Stay. I wanted to talk to you anyways.” 

“You did?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Come on, then.” 

Louis complied, moving into the free space at Harry’s side. He had a clearer view of the younger boy now; the tiniest bit of fat on his stomach, his slim calves but thick thighs, strong hands with clean nails, rings at the bases of three of his fingers. Harry had grown up handsome. 

Louis watched Harry’s face for several minutes, noted his reactions to what he was watching, the twitch of his mouth, the rise of his brow, the widening of his eyes. The deep dimples on either side of his face. 

“Are you going to tell me or not, Lou?”

“I’m asexual,” Louis said suddenly, without even thinking. Why had it come out so much easier with Harry, this new Harry that Louis hardly knew, an essential _stranger_ , than with the other boys he spoke to on a daily basis? 

“Okay,” Harry replied easily. 

Louis leaned forward, trying to catch Harry’s eye. “Okay? That’s it?” Harry’s eyes flicked towards his, then back to the screen. 

“Did you expect more?” Harry asked. “It really doesn’t matter to me, your asexuality.”

“I-it doesn’t?” Why was Louis stuttering? And why was Harry such a smooth talker?

Harry turned his head and looked Louis straight in the eyes. “Hey, of course not,” he said in his languid voice. Harry’s voice had gotten slower through the years. “I’d still love you either way, and—” Harry’s eyes widened, and he clapped his hands over his mouth, as though the trap the words back in that had already escaped. He whipped his head back towards the TV, pointedly keeping his eyes from drifting towards Louis’ face. “Fuck, I did _not_ mean to say that. Forget I said that, okay? Pretend I never said that.” 

Louis leaned forward again, but Harry angled his face farther away. “Harry.”

Harry laughed harshly. “First time I talk to you properly in years and I tell you I love you. Stupid, right?” 

“Not stupid,” Louis told him. “Fitting. And how am I supposed to forget you said it if you keep mentioning it?”

“Right.” 

“Actually, it is a bit stupid. Look at me, Harry, God. Where’s my cheeky lad?” 

Harry turned his head ever so slightly, just enough that Louis could look him in his glistening, green eyes. 

“You should have waited until at _least_ the second date before telling me you love me.”

* * *

**Encore**

A bubble of laughter burst from Harry’s throat. “God, Lou!” he said, then laughed again. “So it’s okay?”

“What’s okay?” Louis asked. 

“That. . .” Harry started tentatively. “That I love you.” 

“If it’s okay that I’m asexual.”

“God, Lou!” Harry said again. “Of course that’s okay. That’s always okay.”

“And if we ever. . .you know,” Louis said shyly. “You won’t mind?”

“God, no, of course not.” A pause, then: “Do you want me to put this away?” Harry’s cheeks were red as he gestured to his crotch. 

It was enough to rip a loud laugh from Louis. “That’s okay. You need it out, you need it out, right? What’s a man to do?” 

The TV carried on in the background, and by the time the sun came up, Harry’s face was buried in Louis shoulder. 

And that was how Niall, who had snuck into the backroom early to make up for his video game deprivation these past few weeks, found them. Louis, fast asleep, and Harry tucked into his side, no part of him unexposed.


End file.
